


Gimme Something Good

by blackbird



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbird/pseuds/blackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to take a trip back to figure how to move forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Something Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icedkaner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icedkaner/gifts).



> Very special thanks to [Schyuler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Schuyler/pseuds/Schuyler) and [sunfair](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfair/pseuds/sunfair) for the beta and the encouragement and also to Ryan Adams for the title.

It was a sad state of affairs that had Shitty in his study carrel in the law library on a Friday night. His Torts class was a fucking killer and after spending six hours reading, researching, and writing for his midterm paper, he was pretty sure he'd printed out the same article three times. 

The librarians found him charming and they appreciated that he treated his books with the respect they deserved. His mother raised him right. But all of their heads snapped up when his phone started blaring the theme from "Spongebob."

"Damn," he said, trying to dig it out of his backpack and hit silent. "Sorry, sorry!" The apology only earned him harder glares as he shoved all his books into his bag and jogged out into main lobby. His phone started ringing again.

"'Sup?"

"BRO, BRO," Holster yelled down the line. "Major, major news. This is like, some epic shit."

He headed out of the library toward his car. "Holz, I really don't care if you finally convinced Ransom to throw out those ugly ass shorts."

"Those things are offensive to my retinas, for sure, but this is way, WAY bigger than that. We played those asshats from Wisconson tonight - we won, FYI - but that's not the news. Bitty got checked. Hard."

Shitty froze, his keys halfway into the lock. "Shit, Holster. Is he okay, do I need to come to the fucking hospital? Did someone call Jack?"

"Bro, no. That's the thing - he got checked and HE WAS FINE. I don't know what kind of training he did with Jack over the summer, but our boy took that hit like a pro, shook it off, and scored. We are having a blowout to end all blowouts at the Haus, so ditch all those Harvard chicks and come down here."

"Jesus, man. Maybe lead with that next time," Shitty said, dropping into the driver's seat. His actual plan involved no chicks, but the essay he needed to write for Monday and polishing off the cold pizza in his fridge. "All right, I'm on my way."

"HELL YEAH, BRAH. SEE YOU SOOOON!" Holster hung up and as Shitty headed south toward Samwell, the weight that had been pressing down on his chest started to ease up.

*

He could hear the music from the Haus a block away. Obviously Bitty had gotten to choose all the music tonight because Beyonce faded into Nicki Minaj. The closer he got, he felt himself settling back into his bones properly. 

The front room was filled with people from every Samwell team, including the swimmers, who never bothered to come to Haus parties until Nursey started hooking up with the captain of the girls team. Chowder and Ransom were doing kegsters with a group of soccer players egging them on. There were red cups covering every surface.

Shitty was home.

"SHITTY GODDAMN KNIGHT. YOU ARE TOO SOBER!"

Holster came running at him, full drunken speed (read: not very fast, but with intent) and wrapped him in a hug that lifted him off his feet. 

"You need beer. So, so much beer and then you and Lardo need to destroy this new group of lacrosse players and show them why we are the masters of the beer pong table." He slung his arm around Shitty's shoulders and pulled him toward the kitchen.

"Hang on, where's the man of honor? I need to hear all about this check before I get too wasted to remember," Shitty said.

He'd given his dibs to Chowder because he knew that Bitty wanted to keep an eye on him. "Look at his babyface, Shitty. He needs us to look out for him." Technically, he could summon Chowder to fetch his beer all night, but that was kind of fucked and it had been said that Shitty had an overdeveloped sense of fairness.

"Aw, his phone rang and he went upstairs - " Holster squinted at the clock on the cable box - "a while ago? Ransom was gonna make a speech and stuff before we kegstered him again."

"Lemme find him and I'll get him down here."

Holster flashed him a wide grin. "Cool, cool. We miss you, dude."

Shitty made a detour to the kitchen for beer because he knew the good stuff was hidden in the crisper drawer under Bitty's butter supply. When he passed by the door to that led down to basement, he thought saw a flash of black and purple hair. Lardo had sent him a picture after she'd done it and they'd been texting, but that was it. They usually Skype'd every couple of days, but he'd been slammed with midterms and she'd been so focused on her senior portfolio that neither of them could make it work for the last couple of weeks. 

Upstairs, he saw that Bitty's door was part way open, so Shitty knew he wasn't going to be interrupting anything. 

"I'm pretty sure Coach was filming. I'll e-mail you the video, I promise," he said. He was definitely more than halfway to drunk because his drawl was out in full force. "Yeah, I wish you had too."

Shitty tapped on the door and Bitty's eyes lit up.

"Jack, Shitty's here. Hang on a sec." Bitty popped up off his bed and hugged Shitty tight, arms wrapped around his middle. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too, Bits. Heard you did good tonight."

Bitty smiled up at him. "I did! I think Holster told everyone. Even Jack. Oh, dang." He pulled one arm back and pressed his phone to his ear. "You still there, Jack? Sorry 'bout that, but I had to hug Shitty. Of course he's wearing pants, my gosh."

"Come find me later, all right?" Shitty said, untangling himself, but not before leaning toward the phone. "Jack, don't forget we have a Skype date on Sunday!"

"No, I will not tell him that!" Bitty's cheeks went pink. "I don't know what's gotten into him these days, Shitty, I swear."

 _You_ , is what Shitty wanted to say. _You spent a month with him this summer and when they interview him now, he looks like he hates it less._ He backed out of the room and Bitty didn't even notice him leave. 

Downstairs, Lardo was sitting up on top of the washing machine, a can of beer in her hand and another stashed in her hoodie pocket. He could tell by the look on her face that she was pretty unimpressed by the form of the lacrosse players that were at the beer pong table. When he hopped up next to her, she smiled.

"'Sup?"

"Nada. Came to make sure Bitty was in one piece after his check," he said, chugging the last of his beer. "I like the purple."

"Thanks, bro. I kind of wrecked the bathroom sink, but worth it."

Her leg was pressed up against his and he swore he could smell the jasmine perfume that he knew her mom gave to her every year on her birthday. He didn't get her anything this year, because he couldn't decide if he should have sent it to LA, where she was doing an internship at the Getty, to her mother's house in Boston, or what. He tucked his hand under his leg and watched the lacrosse morons instead of putting his arm around her.

"Hey," she said, knocking her knee into his, "you alright?"

"'Course I am." He turned back to the game. "You boys are a fucking embarrassment to the sanctity of the Pong Gods. Step out of the way and let the professionals show you how it's fucking done."

Lardo rolled her eyes but got to her feet. "Let's do this thing."

The two idiots on the far side of the table looked at each other in disbelief. Shitty caught Lardo's eye and she grinned like a shark. That was his girl.

"You guys can go first," she said sweetly.

*

There were tiny hands pulling at him as he tried to climb the stairs. But his bed was up there and he really, really wanted to take his pants off.

"Shitty, hey, you don't live here anymore, remember?"

He blinked and there was Lardo. She was kind of smeared, like he was looking at her through plastic wrap. Which he'd only done that one time because Ransom dared him to and the wrap was really annoying because it made his 'stache itchy and sweaty. 

"Ooookay, you are really bombed," Lardo said with a laugh. Shitty liked her laugh. It sounded like bells. Or like those windchimes at his mom's house. His mom would like Lardo.

"Think you can make it to my dorm?"

When he nodded, she tucked herself under his arm and they stepped over (and on) a pile of people near the front door. It was cold outside, but Shitty felt warm and kind of tingly where Lardo was pressed against him. Looking down, he tried to sync his steps up with hers.

"Like a three legged race or s'mthing," he muttered, tightening his hold on her shoulders.

"Yeah, just like that," she answered.

The air helped sober him up a little and he was fine to stand on his own while Lardo dug her key card out and swiped them both in. The guard at the front desk didn't look twice as they shuffled toward the elevator bank. Shitty felt like he should say something, but all the things he wanted to tell her were things he and Lardo Did Not Say. Like a word that started with a "g" and ended with "-irlfriend." Like a four letter word that started with a big, fat capital L.

Shitty had always liked Lardo's room. They had usually hung out at the Haus, partly because that's where his stash lived and partly because she had whatever pieces she was working on in various states and didn't want anyone touching them. Bitty was the only person she trusted not to knock something over.

There wasn't much in there now. Just a partly finished collage up on her easel and some drawing pads open on her desk. She gave him a little shove and he dropped back onto her bed.

"Where's all your--" he waved his hand, "-- art stuff?"

Turning on the little lamp next to the bed, she smiled. "Seniors get their own studio space. No more getting high off paint fumes in here anymore." Pulling her hoodie off, she tossed it toward the hamper. "Uh, you're not planning on sleeping in your clothes, are you?"

He looked down. Right - pants off. Toeing off his sneakers and socks first, he wiggled out of his jeans and kicked them onto the floor. He was still debating shirt on or shirt off when a bottle of water and three Advils appeared under his nose.

"Thanks, bro," he said. He was definitely thirstier than he thought because he finished the water in three gulps. Skinning off his shirt, he tossed it on top of his jeans.

Lardo pulled the blankets back. "Shove over."

It took a couple of minutes to get settled - she had to switch the pillows around, he needed to tuck the blankets under his feet. When she turned the lamp off, there was still a little bit of light from the window. Under the covers, he found her hand.

"Hey," he whispered, squeezing her hand.

"Yo," she said back.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Duh."

"I hate Harvard." 

His voice was so small and quiet that he wasn't even sure he'd said it out loud. It had been the hardest decision of his life and he'd been second guessing himself since he'd gotten the acceptance letter in the mail. 

Lardo rolled over to face him. "You don't have to go to Harvard, dude. There are lots of law schools," she told him. Up this close, he could see the freckles on the bridge of her nose. "You got into like, seven other ones."

He did, he knew that, and he could have gone anywhere, but Harvard was Harvard and for once he and his dad could have a civil conversation. But his cohort was made up 85% douchebags, 10% kickass ladies, and 5% him. In lectures, he'd had to sit on his hands twice just this week to keep from punching this one asshat in the mouth when he started spouting off some crap about how immigrants should be dumped into the ocean and women should consider themselves 'pre-pregnant' at all times. 

Harvard kind of fucking sucked. And not in the good way.

He didn't say any of that. Instead, he scooted in closer and kissed Lardo instead. Because she was something in his life that was right and didn't ever expect him to be anything that he wasn't. 

She curled her leg over his and kissed him back gently. After a little while, she pulled back and leaned her forehead against his.

"Go to sleep, B," she murmured and because Lardo usually had the best ideas, he tugged her close enough to tuck her head under his chin and closed his eyes.

*

The sun was a horrible, evil thing. Why was it always rising and shining right in his eyes when he was hungover as fuck? He tucked his face back under the blankets and prayed for a quick death.

But these blankets did not smell like the fabric softener that his mom always brought him. Carefully, he opened his eyes. 

Lardo - no, Larissa. This was Larissa sitting at her desk in nothing but a pair of polka dotted boy shorts and a Samwell Hockey sweatshirt that he thought once might have been his before she cut the neck out and made thumbholes in the sleeves so she could hold her drawing pen at the right angles. The _skritch skritch_ on the paper stopped and she looked over her bare shoulder at him.

"There's coffee," she said, nodding toward the half full pot. "And there are some of Bitty's scones left, but they might be kinda stale."

"C'mere," he croaked.

"Yeah, no way," she said. "Your breath always smells like death after you get bombed. If you brush your teeth - maybe."

Slowly, because his head felt like someone was taking slapshots inside his skull, he sat up. His hair was a fucking disaster and yeah, she was right, it did taste like something horrible was living on his tongue. Lardo was smirking at him.

"It's really fucked that you're never hungover, you know that?"

She nodded sagely. "It is a burden that I must bear."

He pulled his shirt on - his boxers were decent enough - and found the little toiletry kit that he left the last time he stayed over in the drawer with all of her other bathroom stuff. 

"Be right back."

"Don't fall asleep in there," she said, picking her pen back up. She was still working when he came back from brushing his teeth three times and dunking his head under the faucet. The cold water helped clear his head.

"Did I actually tell you that your laugh sounded like my mom's windchimes?" he asked as he poured himself coffee and dumped four sugars into it. There was a very unfortunate incident with milk at the Haus a couple years back and now he drank his coffee black, thank you very much. He sat down on the edge of her bed, clutching his cup.

"Yeah, I think so? You were mumbling and sorta talking into the top of my head, which, okay, I get I'm short, but c'mon, bro." He knew she was teasing, but still.

"I didn't mean to get shitfaced and crash your place without asking," he said. "I could've slept on the couch at the Haus."

"Ew, no. That thing needs a biohazard sign, for real, and you know you can always stay here." She grabbed a stack of paper from her desk and came to sit beside him. "Here. I printed some stuff out for you this morning. You were snoring so fucking loud you didn't even hear it."

Setting his cup on the nightstand, he flipped through them. 

**_BOSTON COLLEGE LAW SCHOOL - TRANSFER APPLICATION REQUIREMENTS_ **

"You got in there before, right? I don't know if that'll help your chances, but can't hurt either. There's even an intramural men's hockey team. I mean, the manager won't be as 'swawesome as me, but, you know." She gave him a little shrug and bumped her shoulder against his.

He blinked hard because he was really not going to cry. "Lard - Larissa," he started, but she clapped her hand over his mouth.

"You're miserable, dude. You are not the Shitty Knight I know and love and that's not right. Fuck your fucking dad and fuck Harvard and do what's gonna make you happy."

"Yrwp," he said into her palm.

"What?"

"You," he repeated when she moved her hand. "You make me happy too. And I - I don't want either of us dating other people."

Lardo looked down, biting her bottom lip. "I thought maybe you'd rather date someone else, you know, some hot wannabe lawyer chick or whatever."

That made him laugh. "All of the girls in my cohort are lesbians and who the fuck wants to date a law student anyway? All they ever do is talk, talk, talk."

"Yeah, I noticed," she said, the corner of her mouth curling up. 

"You get that you're one of the best things in my life, right? I'm sorta terrible at saying that kind of stuff when it's important. My mom is always on my case about it, like she's so great at feelings, but just so we're clear." He trailed off awkwardly, crumpling the pages in his hand.

He felt her fingers on his jaw, scratching gently just like she always did when they were baked and curled up together watching stupid cat videos on her phone. Her lips brushed against his. "Shitty Knight, are you asking me to go steady?"

"Only if you're saying yes."

"I am. Obviously."

Shitty let the application fall on the floor and grabbed for her, rolling them until she was lying underneath him. That probably would have been a killer move if his hangover hadn't made him a little dizzy. It took a few seconds for his head to stop spinning. 

She giggled, but stretched up to kiss him anyway. "I swear, you are dumb as fuck sometimes."

"Shut up, I'm trying to make out with my girlfriend here," he said, trying not to trip over the words too much.

"Sorry, sorry. Please, go on," she said, kissing him hard before she yanked the blankets back up over their heads.

They didn't get back out of bed until afternoon, when Bitty called and insisted they come to the Haus for a late lunch and to pick up a batch of cookies he baked especially for Shitty. When they left, Lardo made sure the application was stuck in his back pocket.


End file.
